Five Lousy Kisses
by katchuri
Summary: Complete. Set between At Last A Dragon and Something Terrible Part 1.At the beginning of Something Terrible Part 1, Spike tells Lynda that the relationship so far has only got him “five lousy kisses”. We've seen one, here are the other four.
1. Chapter 1

Set between At Last A Dragon and Something Terrible Part 1.

At the beginning of Something Terrible Part 1, Spike tells Lynda that the relationship so far has only got him "five lousy kisses".

If we take the kiss at Lynda's garden gate that we were witness to at the end of At Last A Dragon, (although, if you ask me, that one looked anything but lousy…) as the first of those, here are the other four kisses.

**KISS NUMBER TWO:**

Outside the door of the common room, Spike hesitated. Then took a deep breath.

He knew her timetable like the back of his hand. Probably better than he knew his own, if he was honest about it.

She always had the period after morning break free on a Monday of week two. He'd spent enough time in the common room to know this. And, besides, he'd already checked the library on his way here from maths, and there'd been no sign of her.

Therefore, by a process of deduction, she had to be in here.

The door swung open in front of him, to reveal the large eyes and velvet cap of Ruby Grogan. She emitted a barely audible squeak, and pressed herself against the wall to inch past him into the corridor, without touching him.

Spike shook his head, as she took off down the corridor at a run. One of these days he'd have to ask Lynda exactly what she'd said to Ruby to get rid of her.

Lynda.

He caught the common room door on its back swing, and stepped inside. His gaze roved the room, nearly catching the eye of Barry Crowther, sat at one of the tables with his mates, playing an enthusiastic game of cards, and still wearing a genuine CM enterprises rubber relaxer. Spike snorted slightly with laughter. He still couldn't believe people had been gullible to buy them in the first place, let alone still wearing them now. And then he found her.

Wedged into a corner of the room, a pad of paper on her lap, an open maths textbook in front of her, and flanked by Kenny and Sarah.

Spike stood frozen to the spot in the middle of the room and gaped, oblivious to all but the apparition before him. Her hair softly framed her face, and her soft, pliable lips – oh, how he remembered her lips – sucked at the stub of a pencil. Spike felt like he was falling, tumbling, drifting, spinning, and that he'd never touch the ground ever again. And if she still could affect him like this now, a clear thirty six hours at least since things had altered between them, he was right with his first assessment of the situation – love really was magic.

She turned slightly, away from the textbook that she was sharing with Sarah, to listen to a comment from Kenny, and her forehead reflected the harsh glow of the overhead halogen strip lights. It was enough to break the spell she was casting over him.

Lynda looked up, and spotted him. Her mouth fell open, and the pencil rolled into her lap.

Kenny, obviously wondering the reason for the lull in conversation, glanced at Lynda. He took in the open mouth, and the dropped pencil. Then, his obviously amused eyes moved to Spike.

Spike forced himself to move, to speak, to act as if everything was as normal, despite everything in his body that screamed at him to take her hand and drag her off to a quiet dark corner so that they could continue what they'd started on Saturday night.

"Morning, boss."

"Where were you this morning? You were due at the newsroom at 7.30."

Spike drew in a sharp breath. So much for sweet nothings. He straightened the collar of his shirt under her scrutiny.

"Over slept," he offered, in way of explanation, and threw himself into the nearest available chair, sitting as close to her as he could.

"Well, you can make the time up later then," Lynda said, tartly, and picked up her pencil again.

"So…" said Kenny, looking between the two of them as if he was watching a tennis match.

"So, what?" snapped Lynda, flipping over a page of her text book, then arching an eyebrow in Kenny's direction.

"Saturday…" Kenny faltered, clearly starting to regret having brought up the subject.

"How did it go?"

Spike's eyes met Lynda's for the second time that morning. He didn't trust himself to say anything. He hesitated, waiting for her cue.

Lynda directed a withering look at Kenny. "Fine," she said firmly, as if the matter was firmly closed, and turned her attention back to her maths problems.

"Fine," echoed Spike. Clearly they weren't admitting to anything just yet. He could play along with that game for now, but sooner or later he'd want some answers. Surely, after what she'd said before she kissed him, it wasn't going to end there.

Kenny, clearly exercising some sort of death wish, persisted:

"Was it a good date, then?"

"Who said it was a date?" asked Lynda, scribbling a few figures down. Spike glanced at her note pad. It was all gibberish to him – he was finding it hard enough to retake GCSE maths and get a good grade. How Lynda was good enough to take the subject at A-level was beyond him.

"Well, me actually," muttered Kenny.

"Did you get a goodnight kiss?" asked Sam, as she paraded past in a cloud of perfume.

Lynda's head flipped back up. "Don't you have a lesson to go to, Sam?"

"No," started Sam, but was interrupted by the bell ringing to signal the end of morning break. Her shoulders slumped. "Actually, yes. But don't think that lets you both off the hook…" Lynda had already gone back to her textbook, and Sam departed.

"It wasn't bad," offered Spike. "Interesting people, but if you spot an Arab with an oil drill let me know."

Lynda looked up, pencil in her mouth again, and they shared a grin.

"What?" said Kenny and Sarah in unison.

Spike sniggered.

"Nothing."

Kenny picked up his bag. "Listen, boss, I've got to go. Geography. See you in the newsroom?"

"Don't be late," warned Lynda.

"See ya, Kenny," said Spike, taking the opportunity of Kenny's vacated chair to slide closer to his goal.

Lynda herself sighed heavily. "I'm just not getting this, Sarah."

Sarah, who had been quietly working through the problems on the page without interruption, studied Spike's new seating arrangement with interest.

"It's easy enough," she said. "It was a date. Look it up in the dictionary."

"You know, Lynda," Spike couldn't help interjecting. "Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy takes girl out, boy kisse…"

The back of Lynda's text book connected lightly with the top of his head.

"No, calculus," Lynda laboured the words, as if explaining to a six year old, and effectively stopping that line of conversation before it could go any further. "It's just not making sense."

"I could always come round one night this week and give you a hand," offered Sarah. The noise in the common room was gradually dimming, as sixth formers departed for lessons or the library, and she didn't have to speak as loudly as she would have done before.

"What about now?" asked Lynda, sounding a little desperate.

"Now, I'm writing that story on the swimming pool for you. You remember, the one you gave me at eight o'clock this morning, and told me it had to be done by yesterday?"

Spike listened to their exchange, and watched the common room empty. Now he was beside her again, he felt no urge to move whatsoever. He wriggled his feet in front of him, and settled more comfortably into his chair. He could feel the warmth of Lynda's leg not three inches from his own, and it was doing funny things to his brain.

"Ok, then not now," conceded Lynda. "But soon?"

"How about Thursday? That test isn't until Friday, and I said I'd go to Raymond's cast party with him on Wednesday after paste up. Which reminds me, can I borrow that skirt of yours to wear to the party?"

"Which skirt?"

"The one I liked."

"Oh. No problem."

"Anyway, got to be going. Stuff to do. Are you coming, Spike?"

"Er, no," said Spike. "I'm comfortable enough here for the time being."

"I can see that," said Sarah, and picked up her bag. Lynda chewed her pencil, attention back on the textbook. Spike counted Sarah's steps out of the common room, as she left it deserted but for him and Lynda. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, ei…

As the door catch clicked, there was a sudden exhalation of breath from Lynda, and before Spike knew what was happening she had turned, thrown her arms around his neck, and touched his lips with her own.

There was a sudden blinding pain in the middle of his face. It confused and disorientated him. Lynda's lips moved against his, and she pressed closer – but bliss wasn't even entering into the equation. In fact, the pain was getting worse.

Lynda pulled away.

"Aren't you even going to try to kiss me back? Honestly, Spike, I thought you…"

Through the agony, Spike gradually brought a hand up to touch his nose.

"Oh," said Lynda. "Ooops."

Spike's fingers connected with the end of Lynda's pencil, now deeply buried inside his nasal cavity.


	2. Chapter 2

**KISS NUMBER THREE:**

Spike's nose ached.

He rubbed at it, distractedly, as if that would somehow ease the throb that had accompanied him since yesterday. He leant against the corridor wall, and surveyed his environs over the top of his sunglasses.

Of all the many things of which he believed that Lynda was capable, attempting brain surgery using a blend of graphite and wood would not have been top of the list. Half way down, perhaps, but certainly not at the top.

Still, he mused, as he shoved his hands further into his jeans pockets, and heard his leather jacket creak, the pencil incident had effectively knocked him out of the considerable daze he'd found himself in since Lynda had initiated their kiss on Saturday night. He might have behaved like a lovesick puppy for thirty six hours, but now he was back, and sharp, and fighting fit. With knobs on.

It was amazing what a swift bit of penetration could do.

Granted, he was now living in dreamland, having finally achieved the goal he'd been striving for for the past… well, nearly eight months, he supposed. But he didn't have to act like he was on cloud nine. Cloud ten would have been better – providing Lynda would let him close enough.

Speaking of which, while he knew that she was busy, and that editing the Junior Gazette was a stressful job, surely she should be able to make some time for him? They'd spent hours of last night at the newsroom, within twenty feet of each other mostly, and she'd been all business as usual attitude, and barely given him a second glance. Except for a brief moment in the corridor when he'd been able to catch her hand and try to draw her in for thirty seconds, before Sarah had come looking for her with a query, and she'd pulled away in a panic.

Then she'd sent him off on a reporting job to the leisure centre with Kevin, about a new junior gym night that they'd set up, and by the time he'd returned to the newsroom it was all dark and shut up for the night.

Too distracting, he supposed.

Which was why he, Spike Thomson, legendary ladies man, and breaker of many female hearts around Norbridge, was reduced to stalking Lynda Day on his lunch hour, and hoping to get just a minute of her precious time to himself.

"Spike!" a voice, not belonging to the lovely Lynda, spoke at his elbow.

"Colin." Spike's tone was wary. Colin inspired some difficult emotions at the moment – seething anger at what he'd said about Lynda on Saturday night at the cocktail party, a desperate desire to prove Colin's theories wrong by making a good go of things with Lynda, immense humour at his Arabian native culture speech, and just a general uneasiness that accompanied any entreaty of Colin's, out of concern for his wallet and personal safety.

"What's your head measurement?" enquired Colin.

"What?" Spike was confused.

"For your wig."

"My what?" Spike pushed himself away from the wall, and looked down at Colin, deciding to go with the uneasiness feeling for now. It was easier to deal with.

"Well, we don't want to give you a wig that doesn't fit – you'd ruin the deal," said Colin, and he slung a friendly arm around Spike's shoulders. Spike shrugged it off.

"What. Deal.?" He spoke carefully and explosively. After the fall out of his oil fields scheme in front of several of the town's most prominent businessmen, he couldn't quite believe that Colin was still pursuing this idea with him. He had to have skin as thick as elephant hide.

"This one of my uncle's that I told you about. We've got you a lovely little dress to wear, Spike, in cornflower blue. It'll go great with your eyes. Could you remember to shave your legs tonight?"

Spike took off his sunglasses and just looked at Colin. Nothing more, just looked.

Colin squirmed. He ran his hand through his hair, and pulled it back from his forehead.

"Oh, well, perhaps you need a little more time to think about it," Colin's voice had risen in pitch, and he started to back away. Spike made to move after him, making his body language appear slightly threatening. Colin's pace increased as he disappeared in the direction of the dining hall.

Spike dropped the act, and settled back against the wall. He looked, for what had to be the twentieth time in ten minutes, at Mr Sullivan's office door, which had swallowed Lynda up before he could get to her. A group of fourth year girls strolled past, a couple of them giving him appraising looks. Then a small blond girl, carrying a Peanuts lunchbox, scuttled past in the opposite direction, obviously extremely late for lunch.

The door handle of Sullivan's room twisted, and the office ejected Lynda into his line of sight. 

Spike smirked to himself, adjusted his sunglasses, and pushed away from the wall. He could feel himself start to swagger slightly as he approached her. 

He looked her up and down in the way that had usually made other girlfriends putty in his hands in the past, and let his gaze linger slightly on her legs. They were magnificent ­ if you could discount the fact that the pattern on her tights clashed horribly with the print of her skirt. 

He took in her face again, and anticipated the fast approaching moment when he¹d claim those trembling lips with his own. 

Then he almost hesitated. 

Why were her lips trembling? She looked a little scared, when she should be melting and looking doe-eyed at him. And her gaze kept darting to the corridor behind him, and then back at the door of Mr Sullivan¹s office. 

And then, rather than touching her lips to his, she bit the bottom one and darted past him. 

Spike stopped mid-swagger, finding himself unsettled again. Just how did she manage to do that to him? And, more to the point, just how did she manage to resist him, when any other girl would have been pushed up against the wall and being devoured by now.  
But then, he mused, as he trailed after her, Lynda Day wasn't just any other girl. 

Lynda had stopped at the end of the little spur of corridor that led to the deputy headmaster¹s office, and was checking both directions of the main corridor for traffic. Spike halted a few inches behind her and leant over her shoulder to try to spot what she was looking for. His mouth was extremely close to her cheek, and he debated trying to nuzzle a soft kiss into her, but decided not for the time being.

"Aah, Lynda…" he hedged, instead. "What are we looking for?"

"Kenny," said Lynda, distractedly, looking from side to side again.

"Kenny?!" Spike said, unable to believe what he was hearing. He knew they'd been best friends for years, but couldn't imagine Kenny wanting to be involved in anything he had planned for this moment. Unless Lynda really was as wild as he'd hoped. "Have you been selling tickets to this?" 

"Huh?" said Lynda, as she ascertained that there were no other pupils in the corridor for the time being, and turned back to him. "I said I'd meet him here to go over the front page plan before next period."

Suddenly, Spike couldn't resist teasing her. He took off his sunglasses, rubbed his chin, and looked amusedly at her.

"So," he drawled, "I'm about to kiss you, and you're going to turn it into a… social occasion."

"Hic!" said Lynda, and he caught the full force of her glare. Her voice rose with annoyance. "Shut up, Spike. You're wasting time."

And before Spike could breathe, she'd grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him into her, sliding her lips against his. He could hear his heartbeat pound in his ears as he pushed a little closer, and brought a hand up to smooth her hair away from her cheek. Lynda's hands crept down from his neck area, then up under his jacket, and she rested them on his hips, linking a finger through his belt loop as if to lock him in place.

Spike tried to inch the pair of them backwards, keeping his lips moving, and attempting to brush his tongue against hers as he did so. But a door nearby creaked, and Lynda started as if she'd been shot, pulling away and releasing his waist.

Spike wasn't going to let her go that easily. Not when he had her exactly where he wanted her for the first time since Saturday night.

"It's nothing," he murmured against her lips, and drove another kiss into her wanting mouth. Lynda made a soft murmuring sound, as her nose brushed against his, and her shoulders sagged slightly, allowing herself to be drawn in again. 

But, just as quickly as she'd relaxed, she stiffened again, and pulled back completely, putting as much space between them as was possible in the small narrow corridor. Her lips were red and wet, her eyes dark and limpid, and her mouth hung open slightly as she breathed heavily in great big gasps.

"Wha…" said Spike, unable to fathom the change of plan and feeling distinctly unsatisfied. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, and then another when the first one didn't work.

Then he heard the footsteps out in the main corridor, and things made sense. Lynda must have been listening, which meant that she hadn't had her mind on the matter at hand in the slightest. Annoyance mixed with the lust he was trying to control, and by the time Kenny's friendly face came into view, he was practically ready to sneer. Either she wanted him or she didn't – but he wasn't hanging around to listen to her fob off her best friend.

Spike pushed past them both, ignoring Kenny's cheery and amused "Hi!", and Lynda's plaintive "Spike…" called in his wake, and strode up the corridor as the bell went for the end of lunch time, knocking the doors of some open lockers as he went. Let Lynda explain that one.


	3. Chapter 3

KISS NUMBER FOUR

Spike's canvas dap connected with the dull edge of a stone chipping, and he watched its arc through the air until it hit the still surface of the grey-green canal water.

As the ripples spread out from the centre of its impact, he hunched his shoulders and buried his hands in his pockets, and sighed heavily.

A moorhen hurried past. Spike scowled at it, and ground his toe into the dust, preparing to kick another stone.

The gravel crunched behind him, and his leg stopped mid-swing, sending up a cloud of orange-and-cream particles, and causing a few small stones to hop into the reeds. A crowd of ducks, paddling a few metres away, scattered and quacked.

"Spike…" said Lynda's voice, from a few feet away. He looked up, and tried to maintain his scowl. The wind blew her hair, and she reached to tuck a stray lock of it behind her ear.

His expression wavered, as he imagined what he'd like to do to that ear. He'd start by gently sucking at the lobe, and then he'd…

He turned back to the ducks to hide any tell-tale softening in his face, hunched his shoulders further, and kicked at the stones again. A few more scattered the surface of the canal water.

"Yeah…" he drawled, taking care to put everything and nothing into the word.

"What's the matter?" Lynda's tone was almost plaintive, and certainly confused. Feeling slightly incredulous that she still hadn't worked it out, Spike swung round to face her again.

"Kenny!" he spat, before he could help himself. Lynda jumped back, startled and wide-eyed. Whatever she'd been thinking had annoyed him, it clearly couldn't have been that.

"We're just good friends! Nothing more…" said Lynda, gabbling slightly as she recovered.

"Precisely!" said Spike, his tone slightly softer now.

"Huh?!" said Lynda.

"And you haven't told him about us yet," Spike spelt out, as if to a young child.

Lynda's mouth made an "O" shape as her expression cleared.

"He's your best friend, Lynda," Spike warmed into the release of his frustration. "Why the hell not?"

If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed that Lynda Day was capable of squirming. She actually ground her toe into the gravel, and looked down and away from him.

"Because he'd have proof he was right," she said in a very small and quiet voice, quite unlike the Lynda he'd known and lusted after up until now. A glimmer of the person he'd experienced on Saturday night shone through her usual barricaded veneer.

Spike considered for a split second. That made sense.

He smiled. He couldn't help it.

"And that would be bad…?"

"Yes!" yelped Lynda, recoiling as if threatened. Her chin tilted up into a defensive angle. "You know how smug he gets. I'd never hear the end of it."

Spike could feel himself softening. She could be so damn cute when the moment took her. Of course, he preferred his head to remain on his shoulders, rather than be chewed off and spat into her in-tray, so he'd didn't think he'd actually get around to telling her that. But it didn't hurt to think it. It kind of reminded him what he was doing here, and with her.

"Besides," Lynda continued, in a softer tone. "I like him not knowing. It's like it's our secret." She gave him that soft smile of hers, which he already was starting to know as his downfall. "It's private. It's you and me, and no-one else."

He could feel the last vestiges of his annoyance melt away at that gentle raising of her lips, and inwardly cursed himself for being such a pushover where she was concerned.

Later, Spike would wonder why he was willing to accept what she said so readily and wholeheartedly. This was Lynda. She was his prize. He'd chased her, far harder than he ever had for anyone else, for months and months. And finally she'd consented to go out with him. It was truly incredible, when he thought about it. He didn't want to keep it secret – he wanted to shout it from the top of the school building to anyone who would listen, or take out a full page colour advert in the Gazette that told the world that she had finally weakened and was his. His! And he had kissing rights too.

Speaking of which…

He took a step closer to her, dug his hands out of his pockets, and shifted his gaze to her lips. They were alone, so she couldn't complain. Their only company was the odd brightly painted narrowboat in the distance, and a crowd of ducks, who were hardly likely to go tattling to the rest of the newsteam if they saw anything.

"If that's the way you want it," he said, and inched still closer to her. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she looked up at him through them.

"For now, please," Lynda nearly whispered. He was close enough now to feel that delicious pull between them. Their torsos squared up to each other, and their chests rose and fell. He was caught, the tension practically snapping as his body leaned in towards hers, and they breathed in unison.

"Any other girl would be proud to going out with me," said Spike, not really engaging his brain, and closed the diminishing gap between them to kiss her.

The distance was further than he had anticipated. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn Lynda had pulled away. And he encountered a barrier at chest level.

Keeping his lips on hers, but not taking the kiss any further, he brought his hands up between them. And found a pair of folded arms pressed tightly against her chest, and now his shirt too.

Lynda huffed slightly, quite a feat considering her mouth was completely blocked by his, and heightened the tension in her limbs.

Spike, feeling his frustration return, and musing that he'd expected to have encountered something a little softer than arms in her chest area, groped along her shirtsleeves until he found her clenched hands. He gradually loosened her fingers, and stroked the tips of his own into her palms, drawing the arms away from her chest and outwards to encircle his waist.

He emitted a noise of his own, which was anything but a huff, and opened his mouth against hers, relaxing into her and trying to drink her in. Lynda's mouth opened under his, and his heart swelled in his chest as his body realised that he'd finally be able to take things in the direction that he wanted. His arms moved to her back to pull her closer into him, and his hips seemed to want to inch forward.

But suddenly that open mouth wasn't on his anymore, and it was moving and saying things to him. Spike's hips and brain stopped simultaneously, and struggled to focus.

"…because you're such a great catch…" huffed Lynda, sarcastically. "I'm supposed to be grateful, am I?" Her eyebrow arched, dangerously.

Spike chose to deliberately ignore her tone and sarcasm. "Yeah," he said, shrugging, and leaned in to try and kiss her again.

Lynda pulled back sharply, and Spike's mouth snapped shut. His arms dropped away from her. He looked at her, attempting to appear reproachful and not at all desperate.

"Well, I'm not any other girl," she said, sharply. And she took his hand, starting to pull him back along the towpath in the direction of the Junior Gazette office.

"That's obvious," Spike muttered, and allowed himself to be towed slightly.

"They'll notice soon," said Lynda, with purpose. "I'd better get back."

Spike checked his watch. Four o'clock. Not bad for a Tuesday, given his time-keeping, but obviously a terrible tardiness for Lynda, who believed that she should be at the newsroom the moment the bell rang for the end of the school day, and – he believed – frequently ran there.

"What about Sarah?" he asked, as he swung their clasped hands.

"What about Sarah?" said Lynda, sounding puzzled.

"Does she know about us?"

"Of course not. She's got Raymond now – I doubt she'll notice anything for a couple of weeks."

"Colin?" Spike couldn't resist it. He suppressed a grin and tried to look as if the question was serious, but his eyes gave him away, he knew. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his sunglasses.

"As if I'd tell that little worm anything!" exclaimed Lynda, hotly. "He'd only use it to blackmail me, or attempt to sell tickets to us kissing, or…"

She stopped. Spike was trying to stop his shoulders shaking with laughter. Had he not been on a towpath he'd have been rolling around on the floor, he knew.

He leaned into her face.

"You can't take a joke, boss!"

"Can so!" returned Lynda, her eyes flashing in the dangerous way that made his spine trickle. "And besides, that wasn't a joke. That was a horror story!"

Spike silently agreed, but decided not to push things. Not for now.

He laced his fingers through hers. This would do, for the moment. She'd come round eventually. He'd make sure of that, even if it meant kissing her over the desks during the pizza meeting, with a rapt audience. And it was almost sort of nice to have something that was just between them.

Lynda's thumb stroked his as they reached the edge of a warehouse that backed onto a path that led back to the office.

"I'll go first," she said, quickly. "You wait five minutes until it's all clear." Then she pecked him on the cheek and departed before he could say anything else, her curls bouncing around the back of her neck as she walked.

Spike leant back against the brick wall of the warehouse, wondered what all this was doing to his reputation, and waited.


	4. Chapter 4

KISS NUMBER FIVE

Spike watched the double doors of the newsroom swing shut behind Lynda, and heard the noise level rise in her wake.

He'd gradually noticed, over his months working for the Junior Gazette, that she often did this – pushed the panic button, counted to ten, then left the room to enable the nasty comments to flow freely without having to pretend not to hear.

Which, he supposed, was quite perceptive of her to realise that the news team needed some space – even if, in this case, it was just that the final paste-up deadline needed to be brought forward by half an hour – and to give them it on a plate. Not that he'd ever tell her he'd worked out what was going on – hell, he could barely even spell "perceptive" – but it pleased him that he had worked out just a little of what went on in that over-filled brain of hers.

"Kenny…" a plaintive, female whine started up, ten paces behind his desk and getting nearer. "She can't…"

Spike stood up, and pushed his chair back so hard that his whole desk shook. He flipped his sunglasses further up his nose with the aid of his index finger, then gradually sauntered towards the double doors in the direction of Lynda. He wasn't going to sit around and listen to them complain about her. Not right now. Not while his feelings for her were so raw and tangled.

At the doors he glanced back and surveyed the scene. Kenny appeared to be surrounded by four girls in varying states of anger and agitation, a small whirlwind with a large amount of blonde wisps was blowing through the graphics room, and Colin appeared to be going in for the kill with someone over the telephone. And typewriters clattered and pinged around the entire room.

So far, so good.

Everyone appeared occupied – so no-one would look for him for a good few minutes. And he could count on their irritation with Lynda to keep anyone desiring to see her at bay for a few more minutes past that too.

He positioned himself by the door to the toilet, and waited.

The door was yanked open, and the sign flapped in the resulting breeze. Lynda stopped mid-stride on spotting him. She rocked on the balls of her feet as her momentum faded, then turned to face him with one eyebrow raised, and a half-icy, half-amused look in her eyes.

She crossed her arms, and regarded him coolly.

"Spike…" she said. It wasn't a question, but more of a statement that needed no answer. Despite the lack of obvious encouragement, Spike decided to play along. He crossed his arms in a direct imitation of her, raised his eyebrow above the rim of his sunglasses, and regarded her just as coolly.

"Yeah…" he said, in exactly the same manner.

"Fancy meeting you like this," said Lynda, completely unfazed at having her tactics and mannerisms played back at her. She glanced at the corridor behind him, then turned to look over her shoulder, as if to reassure herself that they were truly alone. The corners of her mouth twitched, but you couldn't really call it a smile.

"Again," said Spike, not changing the tone of his voice in the slightest.

"Again," echoed Lynda in confirmation. "But there's something missing," she added, in what Spike decided, no, hoped, was a slight attempt to lighten the mood of the conversation."

"Yeah?" said Spike, pulling his sunglasses down his nose, and looking at her over the top of the rims. He wondered where this was going now. Say what you like about Lynda – and most people usually did – she had a good knack of keeping people on their guard with the minimum of words.

"No pyjamas…" said Lynda, slightly triumphantly, and with a hint of a grin. Something inside Spike leapt to life – to hell with being guarded, this woman was something else – and he leant towards her with a leer that was intended to be slightly suggestive.

"Mmmm," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "Brushed cotton…"

Lynda clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the giggle that threatened to escape and alert the rest of the news team to what was going on in the corridor.

Spike smiled, and pushed his sunglasses up to balance on the top of his head. He'd made her laugh. And, come to think of it, those pyjamas she'd worn the night of the all-nighter had been kind of sexy. He wondered if she'd…

Lynda cut short any further thoughts with one swift movement. She grabbed his hand, meeting his eyes with hers, and pulled him towards the wall beside the main double doors.

"Come here," she said, her voice having dropped an octave.

Spike started to move his mouth into a satisfied smile, but she was too quick for him and touched her lips to his almost immediately, and the smile turned into a slight sigh as he sank into her.

Lynda brought her arms up to encircle his neck, and gently rubbed one thumb along his hairline, while curling her other palm into the short curls at the back of his head.

Encouraged, Spike pushed her back towards the wall very gently, and attempted to mould his body to hers, but – despite having initiated the kiss – Lynda clearly had no intention of being moulded to. At least just yet – he encountered her elbows at chest level forming a very definite barrier.

If his mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied, Spike would have frowned. This was entirely new – any other girl he'd had in this position had been soft and compliant and wanting and entirely delicious. He hadn't counted on frustrating and guarded, and, despite this being Lynda and the girl of his dreams, he really wasn't sure he knew where it was going. Or that he was going to fully enjoy it either.

Time for a different tactic, he decided, and flexed his lips to gradually open those beneath them.

Lynda's mouth faltered slightly under his own, and for a second Spike thought she might break the kiss, but she seemed to make a quick decision and parted her lips ever so slowly.

Spike brought his hands to either side of her waist, encountering the cold surface of the wall behind them with his knuckles, and stroked both thumbs down the plain of her stomach, on top of her t-shirt.

Lynda sighed slightly, and her mouth opened wider.

Very softly, Spike brought his tongue forward and touched it to her bottom lip. He kept his thumbs moving, ever so gently.

She removed her hand from the back of his head, slid it down over his chest with the palm open – Spike's nipple hardened instantly – and then reached around his back to pull one side of him closer.

Spike's brain blew a quick trumpet fanfare. This was progress. This was how he wanted her.

He tentatively touched his tongue to her bottom lip again, but further forward this time. He remembered how eager she'd been to kiss like this on Saturday night, and wondered faintly why she was hesitating so much now – but he supposed Saturday night, in the dark, after a glass or two of wine at a very fancy party, was very different to Wednesday night in a brightly lit newsroom corridor, where they could be discovered at any moment.

The tip of Lynda's tongue crept forward, and met his. Something exploded behind his closed eyelids, and he grunted slightly and pressed closer to her again, encountering less of a barrier this time.

His right hand crept up under the hem of her t-shirt, and rested against her hip. He twisted his fingers and encountered the flesh of her waist, stroking gently with the merest of brushes from his fingertips.

Skin. He had skin.

Unable to help himself, Spike pressed forward, and laid the whole length of his tongue against hers, moving his hips nearer and nearer, and pushing harder against the wall. He pushed his hands further up underneath her t-shirt, slightly surprised at his daring. At first Lynda's tongue might have started to writhe against his, but then she kept it stock still, and certainly nowhere near his tonsils.

She brought her other hand down from his neck, and placed it on his side, pushing him backwards.

Their lips parted, and they separated, although Spike's eyes roved her face to check – or hope – that this was just a quick break in proceedings, and they could get back to what they'd started with a minimum of fuss.

For several heavy, drooping seconds, they stared at each other, mouths open and wet.

"Lynda…" called a female voice from behind the closed newsroom doors. Both Spike and Lynda dropped their arms immediately, and Lynda leapt away from him sideways along the wall, as if she'd been scolded.

"For the last time, Thompson," she snapped, her eyes instantly glinting cold and dangerously, "I am not going out with you!" Her arms folded in front of her, and she fixed him with a determined look.

"Huh?" said Spike, confused, as Sarah appeared through the newsroom doors.

"Oh, uh, yeah," Spike stumbled, as he gradually cottoned on to the latest round of pretending to the outside world that there was nothing going on between them. "Er, why not?!" he raised his voice indignantly, and very convincingly, in his opinion.

"Because…" Lynda started, but was cut short by Sarah.

"Is it ok if I go now?" she asked, in a voice that didn't show any trace of curiosity at what had been occurring, as if she'd heard it all before and was bored with it. Which, Spike supposed, she probably had.

"All my stories are done, and being pasted up, and I've got Raymond's cast party to go to, so I ought to go home and change," finished Sarah. She just focused on Lynda, and didn't even bother to acknowledge Spike.

"Yeah, sure," said Lynda, looking a little grateful that her friend wasn't going to question what had been going on, or make a fuss. "I'll see you tomorrow morning. Have fun."

"You too," said Sarah, with a tiny smile, and sauntered along the corridor to the exit.

Both Spike and Lynda stared after her. As the door clicked shut, Lynda turned to him.

"Do you think she suspected anything?" she said, voice lowered.

Spike shrugged, and looked back again at the now-shut door to the building.

"Maybe…" he said.

"Damn!" said Lynda, and stamped her foot. Her curls tossed in annoyance.

Spike considered briefly, and decided that there was no harm in trying to draw her back in so that they could finish what they'd started. He stuck his hand out towards her.

"Lynda, I…"

At that instant, the distinctive sound of the newsroom telephone cut across the building. Lynda started.

"That's probably Mr Kerr. I've got to go."

"Lynda," said Spike, feeling a little uncharacteristically desperate, but determined that they couldn't leave things like this. His hand caught hers as she reached the double doors into the newsroom.

"What?" she said, looking a little torn between coming back to him, and racing off to answer Mr Kerr's summons.

"Meet me," Spike said, sounding to his own ears like he was pleading. "Round the back of Block C at school? You know, by the Home Ec rooms? Tomorrow at morning break? Please?"

Lynda looked at him for a beat, and Spike tried not to look as desperate as he was feeling.

"Ok," she said, and gave him a tiny smile. Then pushed the door open and strode away into the tumult of the newsroom, where several voices could instantly be heard to say "Lynda, I…" as she progressed across the room.

Spike turned and sagged against the wall behind him. He flipped his sunglasses back down to his nose, and folded his arms.

Better. Much better – if you considered the pencil up the nose on Monday morning as a low point. But still not quite right enough for him.

Still, tomorrow morning, round the back of Block C – a place which had never failed with girls in the past – he'd make it right enough. Definitely.


End file.
